Fostering Relationships
by Vampire-Badger
Summary: Desmond never planned on becoming a father, but sometimes these things just happen. Pre-AC. Time travel.
1. Chapter 1

November 16, 2011

-/-

Desmond is used to coming home at odd hours. Sometimes it's his own fault- working at a bar in New York, he meets a lot of people that like to party. And the alcohol, the music, the crowds, the lights- they all keep him from thinking about memories he'd rather forget. He can't count the number of times he's stumbled home after dawn, drunk or hung over or both at once.

But sometimes it's not his fault- working at a bar in New York, he meets a lot of people that can't hold their drink. And sometimes those people like to make a mess all over the bar. The only thing that's kept Desmond out late more times than his own attempts at drowning his past in a bottle is the parade of drunken morons he has to deal with at work.

Today is one of those days. A couple of tourists- young, probably too young to be allowed in the bar- stumbled in about an hour before closing, already pretty much wasted and clearly looking for trouble. Sure enough, within ten minutes they're pushing at each other, shouting and taking swings.

It's all downhill from there- one of the kids pulls a knife on his friend and a couple people end up a little bit stabbed. Nobody dies, but one of them ends up in the hospital. That means the police have to come down and check out the scene, talk to people, all the usual stuff. It would have been fine if Desmond wasn't working under a fake ID and trying to stay off of everyone's radar.

So while the cops set up shop in the back office, Desmond spends his early morning hours cleaning the bar until no sign of the fight remains. After that, he loiters in the area until no one's paying any attention, before finally hopping a fence in a back alley and heading home.

It's almost six in the morning by this point, and most of the people on the street are going to work, not walking home. Desmond's eyes are burning- it's been almost twenty four hours since he last slept, and he's practically tripping over his own feet by the time he makes it back to his apartment.

It's a cheap unit, the kind where the landlord won't care if his tenants pay cash, so long as they pay on time. But it's not the worst place he's stayed since coming to New York. There's hot water in the shower (well- warm water. Usually), the neighborhood is mostly quiet, and nothing's falling down or apart.

The door is locked when Desmond gets in, the lights are still off, and all his stuff is exactly where he left it the night before. Just like it always is. Once upon a time, when he first came to the city, Desmond would have done a more careful check of the apartment, but it's been almost a decade since he left the Farm behind, and he's not as paranoid as he used to be.

He wanders into his bedroom- barely more than a closet off the main room- strips off his work clothes, and is halfway through putting on something he can sleep in when he hears something move behind him. For one long moment, he freezes. Every piece of training he can remember from when he was younger flashes through his mind, and he's surprised by how little that actually is.

He should be dead by now.

Or at the very least, something should have happened. Desmond turns around, wishing he had something in his hands to use as a weapon, but all he has is a balled up T-shirt. Thirty seconds ago he was ready to drop into bed and sleep like a log for the next twelve hours, but now he's wide awake, a hundred thoughts battling for dominance in his brain. Then he takes in the details of the scene in front of him, and his whole brain just gives up in self-defense.

There's a child on his bed. It's a boy, his dark hair cropped close to his head, wide eyes staring at Desmond. He doesn't look older than four or five years old, and his skin has a Middle Eastern tint to it. His face, though… one look at the boy's face and Desmond knows they're related. It looks so similar to Desmond's at that age that they could almost have been twins. Give or take about twenty years. And that means there's only one explanation for why this kid is here.

Four years old. Obviously a relative. The boy would have been born when Desmond was nineteen or twenty, and most of that time is a blur of cheap alcohol and women he can't remember. It's a lot like his life now, to be honest.

"Perfect," Desmond growls, and kicks at the thin bedroom wall. "Just perfect." He digs through his memory, trying really hard to remember who he might have been with five years back, someone that might have kept the baby if they found out they were pregnant, then tracked him down and left the kid in his bedroom when- what? When she ran short of money? When she got tired of taking care of him?

The boy doesn't blink when Desmond turns and glares at him, but his body, wrapped in a blanket taken off Desmond's bed, tenses up. He's clearly trying to hide it, but Desmond can tell he's afraid. The boy's young, and he hasn't learned to keep his emotions off his face yet.

They look at each other for a long time, then Desmond sighs and rubs a hand across his face. Whatever reason his mother had for leaving him here, it's not the kid's fault, and Desmond has enough experience with distant, impossible to please fathers to have any desire to become one himself. He feels his expression soften, and as though that's some kind of signal, the boy bursts into tears and launches himself at Desmond.

It takes him almost an hour to cry himself out, but eventually he falls silent. By this point, Desmond is sitting on his bed, half leaning against the wall, cradling the kid in his lap. "Are you alright?" Desmond asks, and the boy squints up at him with eyes red from crying. He mutters something, the words running together so that Desmond wouldn't be able to make them out even if they were in English. Just another strange thing about this kid, who shows up out of nowhere wearing clothes that look about a thousand years out of date (the blanket slipped off the kid while he was crying, giving Desmond a better look at him).

"You don't speak English?" Desmond asks, and the kid mumbles another answer he can't understand. "Alright." He shifts a little so that the kid is looking at him, and says, "My name's Desmond." He points to his own chest, and repeats, "Desmond."

The kid nods, wiping the back of his hand across his nose. He says something, pointing to himself. Only one word comes out loud enough for Desmond to hear. "Altair?" he asks, and the boy smiles at him. Alright then. Of course he'd have a weird name to go with all the other weird. Altair yawns, and Desmond can't stop himself from doing the same. It's half past seven now and now that the shock of Altair's arrival has worn off, he can feel his eyes drooping. He is _so _ready for sleep.

And that's the last thought he has before letting his eyes close- just for a second.

-/-

March 16, 2012 (Later)

-/-

He opens them ten hours later, and for a second he can't remember how he came to be lying in bed with a kid curled against his stomach. Then it all comes crashing back, and Desmond groans, shifting in bed slightly. He's not trying to wake Altair, but the second he moves, the kid's eyes slide open to stare at him. Desmond forces a smile he doesn't really feel onto his face, and says, "Morning."

He knows Altair doesn't speak English, so the greeting is mostly useless, but if the kid's going to be staying with him, he's going to have to learn the language at some point. And he is going to have to stay here, Desmond is certain of that now. It's like his mind has been working at the problem while he was asleep, because everything that seemed so confusing before falling asleep is crystal clear now. He doesn't have any idea who Altair's mother is, and it's pretty clear she doesn't want him back anyway. He can't call the police, because they're going to end up a lot more interested in his fake name and job history than in Altair. The only other option is straight up abandoning him, and Desmond doesn't think he has it in him to do that.

So Altair will have to stay with him.

"You want breakfast?" Desmond asks, then glances at the clock. 5:30 PM. "Or- dinner?" he corrects himself. Altair doesn't answer, but when Desmond starts rooting around in the fridge and pulling out anything that looks like it might still be edible, he hears small feet on the floor behind him. Altair is hovering in the bedroom doorway when Desmond turns around, half a loaf of bread and a packet of lunchmeat in his hands.

He doesn't say anything while Desmond slaps together a couple of sandwiches, doesn't even move. He stays completely still, watching, waiting for- something. It actually reminds him of something, but it takes him a few minutes to dig the memory out of the hole in the back of his mind where he puts all the things he doesn't want to think about. A few embarrassing morning afters, an exceptionally psycho ex-girlfriend, and most of his childhood.

He remembers being small, standing in the corner of the kitchen, waiting for a chance to sneak in and eat, remembering his dad- _"It's all part of your training- when you're hungry enough you'll learn to get it quietly-" _

Desmond half turns, looking at the half busted microwave on the counter. Sure enough, as soon as he takes his eyes off Altair, he hears the kid bolt for the sandwich. When he looks back, Altair's standing in front of him, food in hand, a huge, proud grin on his face. So whoever's been raising the kid has been training him as an assassin. Not good. Maybe they don't know who Desmond is or where he came from, but that doesn't mean they won't figure it out.

"Good job," Desmond says, because Altair seems to be waiting for something, and watches the boy's smile get bigger. He bites into the sandwich, makes a face like he's not quite sure what to make of it, then keeps eating. Desmond watches him until the food is gone, then stands up. "Alright," he says. "We're going out."

Altair cocks his head and lets out a stream of words that sound like a question. Desmond hesitates, but he really doesn't know how to answer, so he just puts on shoes and gestures for the kid to follow him out the door.

The first thing they need are clothes for Altair. In Desmond's experience, most people are willing to overlook a few oddities, especially in a kid, but that's not going to last forever. If Altair's going to be in the neighborhood for more than a few days, he'll need to look like he fits in. They'll also need food- he hasn't gotten groceries in too long, anyway- and probably a dozen other things Desmond doesn't even know about.

It suddenly strikes him how little he knows about kids in general, and this one specifically. Like- what do kids do all day? He's not going to be happy just sitting around the apartment. And is he toilet trained or still on diapers? Desmond glances down, but as far as he can tell, Altair's pants are dry. Still, he should probably pick something up.

There's a grocery two blocks from Desmond's apartment. It's not the place he usually goes, but there's food there, and the owners don't know he doesn't usually have a kid with him. It's a small place, not a lot of options, but Altair stares around at everything like he's never seen any of it before. But he stays quiet, which is good enough for now.

"Did you find everything you need?" the lady at the counter asks when he's done. She smiles at Altair, who grabs for Desmond's hand and hides behind his leg.

"Yea," Desmond says, and pulls out most of his cash to pay for the supplies. The back of his mind notes that he'll have to pick up some extra hours to make up for it, before he remembers that he might not have time in the foreseeable future. "Thanks."

Altair keeps a tight hold of Desmond's hand the whole way back, which makes carrying his bags a little difficult. He can't bring himself to pull away, though. Altair's starting to drag a little, still staring at everything, and his expression is equal parts curiosity and fear. He doesn't relax until they get into the apartment. As soon as they're inside, away from the noises and confusion of the city, he perks up and almost immediately starts getting underfoot. There's not really enough room to keep it up for long, and after about five minutes Desmond lifts him up and sits him on the counter next to the microwave.

"Stay there," he says, and Altair laughs, but stays put. Desmond can't stop himself from smiling a little in return. He can't pretend that his life isn't going to get more difficult from now on, but maybe it won't be all bad. There's just something about a four year old's smile that's incredibly contagious.

**-/-**

**Taking a temporary break from my ongoing stuff to write a quick Kidfic. I blame spring break. It's too hard to focus.**


	2. Chapter 2

May 4, 2012

-/-

Desmond learns a lot about Altair over the next few months. He likes to do things on his own, no matter how small. By the end of the first week, Desmond knows better than to try and help him make food, get dressed or ready for bed, or- to his own relief- go to the bathroom. It turns out Altair _is _toilet trained, although he doesn't seem to be used to using an actual toilet. Still, once he knows what it's for, Desmond never has to help him with it again.

Small blessings.

He also learns that Altair doesn't get along with other kids too well. Sometimes, when he has free time and Altair starts to go stir crazy inside the tiny apartment, Desmond takes him to a park a little ways away, where he shuns the other kids and climbs everything he can see (whether he's supposed to or not- Desmond gets more than one accusing look from angry mother when Altair finds his way up a tree or, once, a two story building).

But while he's learning about Altair, Altair's learning too- English, first and foremost, which is a huge help. He doesn't talk much about who he is or where he comes from, and Desmond doesn't push. Part of him is afraid that if Altair starts thinking about where he came from, he might decide he wants to go back.

But he does say one thing that makes everything a little more complicated. From what Altair says, Desmond is not his father. That raises all sorts of questions, such why he was left in the apartment, and why he and Desmond look so similar, but after thinking about it for a while, Desmond decides it doesn't make a difference. He still doesn't know how to get Altair home, and he still can't risk taking him to the police.

Life with Altair keeps getting more and more complicated, but Desmond surprises himself by not regretting it for a second. He learns to balance work life and home life. His boss- a woman ten year's Desmond's senior with four kids of her own- decides Altair is the cutest kid she's ever seen, which may account for Desmond's unexpected raise when he mentions he and Altair are getting by mostly on cereal and sandwiches. He picks up some extra shifts, and makes time for it by cutting out the parties that used to take up most of his time. He only comes home drunk once after taking Altair in- the look on the kid's face is enough to make sure of that.

And somehow, everything works. Then one day Desmond comes home from work- cold and soaking wet thanks to a particularly nasty storm- to find Altair sitting on Desmond's bed, trying to look brave and jumping every time he hears thunder. The second he sees Desmond, he jumps off the bed and runs straight for him.

"Desmond!" he says, and his voice is almost a whine. "I don't like the thunder!"

"Yea?" Desmond picks him up and carries him to the cot in the apartment's main room where Altair usually sleeps. "Why not?"

"Because it's loud."

"So?"

"So," Altair says, in a voice that implies Desmond doesn't know anything at all. "Loud is scary."

"Well then I guess you're lucky I'm here." Desmond keeps his tone light, because Altair isn't afraid of much, but for whatever reason the thunder has him terrified, and Desmond is reminded of just how young he is.

Altair jumps as another clap of thunder echoes through the house, and looks up at Desmond. "Why?"

"Because I'm not afraid of thunder," Desmond says. "And I'm going to be sleeping right over there-" he points to the bed in the other room. "So you don't have to be afraid either. Okay?"

Altair hesitates, then nods. "My dad's not afraid of thunder either," he confides. "He's not afraid of anything."

"I bet there's something-"

"No!" Altair shakes his head vehemently. "I know he's not. My dad's an assassin."

And there it is, suddenly out in the open. He's suspected that from the first day, of course, but hearing Altair just say it, his voice so full of pride, is different, and at first Desmond doesn't know what to say. Which is probably why his tongue goes ahead and answers before his brain can stop it. "Mine is too."

"Really?" Altair's eyes go wide. "Are you one too?"

"No," Desmond says, his voice more blunt than he'd meant for it to be, but Altair completely misses the tone.

"I'm going to be an assassin when I get bigger," he says. "I'm gonna be the _best _assassin."

"Yea?" Desmond's not entirely sure how he feels about Altair being so excited about the life Desmond willingly left behind, but at least he's not thinking about his fear of thunder.

"The best assassin there ever was," Altair says, nodding.

"Well how about you just sleep for now, and you can start working on all that other stuff tomorrow?" Desmond suggests.

"Okay," Altair says and burrows under his blankets.

Desmond's halfway back to his own room when a thought strikes him, and he says- "You know, assassins eat their vegetables." He's been trying to sell the kid on beans for weeks, but so far Altair's been having none of it.

"Nope," Altair says, voice already heavy with sleep.

Desmond sighs- it was a longshot anyway- and turns his back on the cot. He's about to close the door when Altair says "Desmond?"

"What?"

"Can you keep your door open tonight?" Altair asks, his voice sounding very small. "Just in case?"

"Yea," Desmond says. "Of course."

Altair mumbles something, and is asleep in five seconds flat. A few minutes later, after Desmond's changed out of clothes that are still soaking wet from his walk home, he walks back into the apartment's main room and stands for a while watching Altair. He's lying on his side, buried in a pile of whatever blankets Desmond could dig up. His mouth is open and one small arm is hanging off the side of the cot. Looking at him now, Desmond has a hard time imagining Altair as any kind of assassin, much less the 'best assassin there ever was'.

"I'm going to keep you safe," Desmond whispers. Maybe to a kid, an assassin's lifestyle seems exciting- Desmond can remember a time, maybe when he was around Altair's age himself- when he wanted nothing as much as he wanted to be just like his dad. That phase hadn't lasted long, and Desmond gave up on his family years ago. Until Altair, anyway. Now the only thing that matters is protecting this kid. "I promise."

-/-

June 27, 2012

-/-

It's incredibly hot in New York City, which means it's even hotter in Desmond's cramped apartment. Maybe it would have been better with a decent air conditioning unit, but Desmond seriously doubts it. He's actually starting to wonder if moving to Alaska would be a good idea.

The whole of the city is hiding inside. It's too warm to move, too warm to do anything other than sit around and complain about how hot it is. Unfortunately for Desmond, that's not exactly an option for him at the moment, because it turns out that a five year old won't slow down for anything less than a nuclear disaster. Altair has been running around since he first woke up- an impressive achievement in an apartment almost literally too small to swing a cat in.

Finally, Desmond decides he can't take it anymore, and the next time Altair runs past him, Desmond reaches out and grabs him. The boy giggles and squirms away. "Come on." Desmond does his best to make his voice firm, but it's hot and he knows he just sounds angry. "It's too hot to be running around."

Altair stops running, but he's practically vibrating, even standing still. Any other day, Desmond would take him out somewhere and let him loose until he ran out of energy, but the last thing he wants to deal with is heat stroke. "But I want to," he says.

"Alright." Desmond sighs. "Then go put your shoes on. We're going out."

"Where are we going?" Altair asks, running after his shoes.

"Swimming," Desmond says.

"Oh." Altair suddenly stops, one shoe on, the other in his hand. "I don't know how to swim."

"You don't have to," Desmond says. "There's parts that aren't even deep. You can just stay there."

"No!" Altair shakes his head. "I wanna learn!"

"Okay then." Desmond sighs and runs a hand through his hair. Arguing with Altair is impossible, because half the time he doesn't even know which side of the argument he's on. The other half, he doesn't know what they're arguing about. "I'll teach you."

Altair smiles a face splitting smile and puts his other shoe on. "I'm ready!"

"Well, give me a minute," Desmond says, standing up.

"Go faster!" Altair gives him a push, but since the top of his head comes about halfway up Desmond's back, the push does very little.

"Or, you know, we could just stay here…" Desmond slows down and Altair pushes harder.

"Desmond!"

"Alright!" he laughs and lets the two of them out the door. Altair takes off running for the stairs, and Desmond calls after him to wait. They keep moving like this all the way to the pool; Altair running ahead until Desmond tells him to stop, then hopping impatiently from one foot to another until Desmond catches up.

The pool is packed full when they finally get there, mostly with kids at this time of the day. Maybe that's why Altair suddenly gets nervous- he's never been good with other people. "I don't wanna go in," he whispers to Desmond, his voice barely audible over the sounds of splashing water and screaming kids.

"I thought you wanted to learn how to swim," Desmond says.

"Not here." Altair glances at a crowd of nearby boys that look like they're trying to make the most amount of noise that is humanely possible.

"Yes here," Desmond says, and picks him up.

"Desmond, no!" Altair shrieks, but Desmond ignores him, dropping the squirming kid down the shallow end of the pool. "That isn't funny!"

"You wanted to learn," Desmond says. "You want to be the only kid that doesn't know how to swim?"

Altair glares up at him- he's dripping wet, and his face hasn't grown into the glare yet. "You get in too," he says.

"I can't," Desmond says. "I'm not wearing a swimsuit."

"Me neither." They stare at each other, and finally Desmond gives in. At least the water will be cool. Besides, the water here is shallow, and he'll barely get wet. That's more or less his thought process, right up until he actually steps in, and Altair's foot snakes forward, tripping him up so he falls flat on his butt.

Altair's too busy laughing at him to listen to a lecture, and after a second Desmond gives up the idea of yelling at him. It didn't actually hurt, anyway. "Alright." He only half manages to hide his smile. The laughter is happy, and utterly carefree in the way only a child's can be. It's also a little bit contagious, which means he's smiling too as he nudges Altair toward a slightly deeper section of the pool. "Very funny," he says. "Now you're going to learn how to swim."

-/-

July 4, 2012

-/-

Desmond has never been a huge fan of fireworks. It's not that he doesn't like them, he's just never seen the point. Altair, on the other hand, definitely does. He somehow finds out that the fourth of July means there will be fireworks, and for two weeks talks of almost nothing else. Finally, to keep himself from going crazy, Desmond agrees to take him to see them. He has work right after, so he'd rather spend the evening at home, but Altair refuses to take no for an answer.

So they go, and it seems like the fireworks show is everything Altair hoped they would be. He spends the entire time craning his neck back, not blinking, gasping in all the right places. But then the show's over, it's hours past Altair's bedtime, and even the excitement isn't enough to combat his exhaustion. Five minutes after the fireworks end he's dragging his feet, and another five minutes later, he's complaining. About what, Desmond isn't sure. He's distracted, trying to decide if he'll be able to make it to work on time, and anyway he recognizes Altair's tone. At this point he's complaining just to complain.

Then, a little more than halfway back to the apartment, Altair says, "I see colors."

"What?" Desmond blinks himself out of his thoughts and back to the real world.

"Colors," Altair says again. "Red and blue and gold-"

"Oh." Desmond shakes his head. "Don't worry about it. You just stared at the fireworks too long."

"But-"

"Just be patient," Desmond says. "It'll go away soon." And that's the last he thinks about it for a while. He takes Altair home, puts him to bed as soon as he physically can, and after changing clothes, he runs out to work. It's a loud night- well, of course it is. Apparently everyone old enough to understand the attractions of alcohol has made the decision to spend the fourth of July drinking, and Desmond could swear that half of them are at Bad Weather.

He gets out later than usual, which means he's home later than usual. He expects to find Altair fast asleep when he finally walks in the door, but he's not. Instead, he's huddled up on his bed, eyes screwed up tight, arms wrapped around his knees.

"Desmond?" he asks in a tiny, barely audible voice.

"Yea?" Desmond's tired, ready to drop into bed and sleep for a week, but he doesn't like the way Altair looks right now. He hasn't been sick since moving into the apartment, so Desmond's not really sure what signs to look for, and he's not sure how worried to be.

"The colors don't go away," Altair says, then adds something in his own language. He's got English mostly down by now- kids, it turns out, actually do learn languages faster than adults- but he tends to lose it when he's upset. Desmond doesn't understand a single word, but the tone is sad and afraid.

"What colors?" he asks.

"I _told _you already," Altair says. "Red and blue and gold and white-" he opens his eyes, stares pleadingly at Desmond, who can't help but stare back. "All over all the people."

There's something wrong with his eyes. The color has changed- they're gold now, really gold, shining and almost surreal in the apartment's dim light. They're glowing, and that's what really freaks Desmond out. He knows absolutely nothing about kids, but it doesn't take a child expert to figure out that's not normal- and that if he says anything to Altair, he's going to flip out even more.

So instead, he sits down next to Altair and gathers him up in his arms. Instead of squirming away like he would normally (he's a kid that does not like to sit still), he curls in closer and buries his head in Desmond's shoulder. "I don't like it," he whimpers.

"Does it hurt?" he asks, and breathes a little sigh of relief when Altair shakes his head no. That's good at least. "Maybe it'll go away by itself." He says it more to himself than to Altair, and without much hope. He's already weighing the pros and cons of going to a doctor in the morning; on the one hand, Altair is clearly suffering, but on the other hand, doctors love to make records and paperwork and other things that make it easy to track people.

After a while of worrying, he realizes that Altair has fallen asleep in his arms. He's not willing to risk moving and waking him up again, so Desmond stays where he is the rest of the night, finally dozing off at around three in the morning.

He doesn't get a great night's sleep, and it ends only a few hours later when someone yells his name right in his ear. "Wha-"

"Desmond!" Altair yells again. "Look! Look!"

"What am I looking at?" Desmond asks, meaning 'what's wrong now?'.

"I figured it out!" Altair's wearing a look of extreme pride, and his eyes have gone back to their normal color. "See?" He screws his face up into a look of intense concentration, and Desmond watches as his eyes light back up with the same golden light from the night before. "I made the colors go away, and then I made them come back!"

"You-" Desmond shakes his head, too relieved to question it. "You are the weirdest kid I've ever met."

-/-

August 22, 2012

-/-

"I don't want to go to school," Altair informs Desmond.

"I know."

"I don't want to meet the other kids."

"I know."

"I don't want to-"

"Altair!"

He shuts his mouth and glares up at Desmond, who takes a deep breath and tries to be firm. "You're going to school."

The glare turns into a pout. "Why?" he whines.

"Because," Desmond says. Because the neighbors know Altair's old enough to be starting Kindergarten, and there's at least one nosy woman down the hall who will definitely ask questions. They don't need the attention, so Desmond decides to bite the bullet and send Altair to classes. Besides- everyone in the neighborhood knows half the kids at that school are illegal immigrants. It's not like anyone's checking up on them, so it's probably an acceptable risk.

"Because isn't a reason," Altair says.

"Because I said so."

"That's not a reason either."

"Well it'll have to be enough for now." Desmond hands Altair his backpack, an olive green one with a patched up hole in the bottom they got from a second hand store. "Anyway. It's only a couple hours."

"I don't like school."

"You haven't even been there yet," Desmond points out. "Maybe you'll love it."

"No!"

"Give it a try," Desmond says. "Come on. If you leave now, I can walk you." He's got a job interview later in the day he can't afford to miss- places that don't ask questions and offer day shifts don't come up too often.

"Fine," Altair says, and allows Desmond to lead him out the apartment, down the stairs, and down the street to the elementary school. At the door, Altair hesitates and turns back to Desmond. "I'm not going to like it," he says.

"I know," Desmond says. "Just- look, at this point I'll be happy if you just go, alright? Can you do that for me?"

Altair considers, then nods.

"And remember," Desmond adds. "No colors."

Altair scowls at him, but Desmond gives him the firmest look he can. Now that Altair can control it, he loves looking at whatever colors it is that he sees when his eyes glow. And as long as it doesn't seem to be hurting him, Desmond's happy enough to just let it go- as long as there's no one around to notice. "I know," Altair grumbles.

"Good." Desmond gives him a little push, and Altair joins the crowd of kids heading for the door. He watches him go, feeling unexpectedly sad. It's been less than a year since Altair just fell into his life and changed it forever. If he had still been on his own, Desmond is pretty sure he'd still be drowning his past out with cheap beer and quick hookups.

He watches until long after the bell rings, until after the last of the latecomers have shown up, then tears himself away for his interview.

-/-

August 22, 2012 (Later)

-/-

At a little past noon, feeling buoyed by what he feels was a very successful morning, Desmond walks back to the school and waits for the Kindergartners to be released for the day. Altair's one of the first ones out, but there's a huge smile on his face when he comes running over to Desmond.

"How'd it go?" Desmond asks, and watches Altair do his best to hide his smile. The kid's easily the most stubborn person he's ever met, and he knows Altair will never admit he was wrong.

"No good," Altair informs him.

"Really?" Desmond asks.

"It was the worst," Altair says, then glances sideways at Desmond and adds; "Can I go back tomorrow?"

-/-

September 1, 2012

-/-

There's a lot to celebrate on the first of September. Desmond's just finished his last day at Bad Weather, and he's due to start work at his new place the following Monday. It's nothing special- working at a high end restaurant doing pretty much the same thing as before, only he'll be paid more, and most of his work will be during the day instead of at night. On top of that, Altair's just finished his first full week of school. Everything, for once, is going perfect, and Desmond feels on top of the world as he goes out for pizza.

He leaves Altair in the apartment alone. He knows he'll be back in less than half an hour, he's got good locks on the doors, and Altair's a smart enough kid that Desmond figures he can trust him not to open the door to strangers. So he's not worried until he actually gets back and finds the door off its hinges and the apartment ransacked. After that, the panic sets in almost instantaneously. Even so, Desmond barely has time to recognize it before someone shoves a rag that smells like chemicals into his face, and the world goes black.


	3. Chapter 3

September 2, 2012

-/-

The next thing he knows, Desmond's waking up from the strangest dream (only he doesn't think it's really a dream, because it's not like any dream he's ever had before. It's too real, too… _something_). He's in a room he's never seen before, and there's two strangers, a man and a woman, trying to convince him there's nothing wrong with going on here.

Only he doesn't want to listen. He wants to know what these people did with Altair. But by the time they've stopped talking long enough for him to get a word in edgewise, he's decided not to ask. The way they're talking, the threats they're making, especially the man, Vidic- Desmond's pretty sure that if they had Altair, they'd be threatening to kill him already. And they haven't even mentioned him.

So they don't know. _They don't have him_. The kid's safe, and as long as that's true, Desmond doesn't care what they do to him. He feels- calm. Far more calm than he should, given the situation. He doesn't even protest (too much) when Vidic orders him back into the… whatever it's called. Animus.

And that's when everything starts to fall apart. Because at first, he can tell himself that it's a coincidence- so maybe this guy's got a very familiar name. It could happen. It's possible. But the farther into the memory he gets, the less convincing this story becomes. There's no reason to believe this Altair is the same as the kid Desmond remembers. But somehow- maybe just because he's actually inside Altair's head- he knows that it's true. And besides, it does answer a lot of questions.

Why they look so similar. It's not because Altair is Desmond's son, as he'd feared during the first few weeks, but because he's his ancestor.

How he appeared out of nowhere in the middle of his apartment and- apparently- disappeared again just before Desmond was taken captive. It's time travel. He can't guess at the details, but they're probably not important, anyway.

Why he didn't know English, or how to use anything modern, until Desmond taught him. It's because there would have been no place to learn it where he grew up.

And besides- when Desmond finally catches a look at Altair's face, reflected in the side of a blade, he recognizes it. Altair's a lot older than he was- well, yesterday- but still unmistakable. He looks even more like Desmond than he did as a child.

The memory almost breaks him. Altair was prideful as a child, but he's worse as a man. He's grown up cold, distancing himself from everyone, and it's enough to kill a man, and leave another one crippled and without an arm. It's enough to get _him _killed, stabbed by a man he can tell Altair respects more than anyone else in Masyaf.

Finally, Vidic and the woman- Lucy- pull him out.

"You're crying," Lucy says softly, when Vidic turns around for a moment.

"I'm not," Desmond says, ignoring the wetness on his face that tells anyone who cares to look that he's lying. Vidic snorts from somewhere behind him, but Desmond ignores the sound. He can't believe how low he feels right now. Yesterday (was it yesterday? He has no idea how long he's been out or where he is) was a good day. Life right now should be getting better, not worse.

"It's alright," Lucy says. "I know the animus can be disorienting the first few times. It's perfectly normal to be overwhelmed."

He grunts, but doesn't answer. Like it's the animus that's bothering him, instead of seeing Altair grown up and different and…

_"I'm gonna be the best assassin!"_

Desmond doesn't know whether to laugh or cry at the memory. It looks like Altair got his wish, but Desmond can't help wondering how high the cost was. There's nothing left of the little boy that was so scared of the thunder he couldn't sleep, and hated the idea of Kindergarten until he actually tried it.

"Desmond?" Lucy asks, her voice, radiating concern. "Do you need a minute? You're going to have to go back in soon, but-"

"Yea," Desmond sighs. "I don't care. Whatever."

-/-

September 9, 2012

-/-

The next week is rough. The animus, it turns out, has all kinds of side effects. Headaches, mental and physical exhaustion, insomnia… Desmond feels ill all the time, and he spends more than one night on the floor of his cell's bathroom, puking out whatever food Vidic deigns to give him. But he would gladly have taken the illness and physical symptoms if it meant he could look at some other ancestor's memories. Someone he never knew.

There is one bit of good news, though. At the beginning of the week, the memories Desmond goes through are awful. Altair is- to put it delicately- not a nice guy. He's selfish, arrogant, and prideful. But by the end of the week, he's changed. Working his way back up from novice status is good for him, and even after Desmond learns that Al Mualim is a traitor and quite possibly a madman, he can't help but be grateful to him for forcing Altair through that.

That's the only good news, though. So Altair finally manages to get his act together and grow up. That's great, and Desmond's genuinely glad to see the change in him, but suddenly he has new problems of his own. Abstergo has what they need out of Altair's memories. They don't need Desmond anymore, and he has no doubt that means they're going to kill him.

Vidic's gloating as he walks out of the room, but Lucy seems sad and uncertain. She hesitates, and stops short of the door. "Hey, Desmond?"

"Yea?" He's still sitting on the animus, taking deep breaths and trying not to throw up.

"I was reading over your file the other day," Lucy tells him, not quite looking him in the eyes. "And- it said they grabbed you out of your apartment. There were pictures."

"Alright," Desmond says. "So?"

"Did you have a kid living with you?" Lucy asks. "Only there was an extra bed there, children's clothes, a backpack full of school supplies-"

"Yea," Desmond says. If she saw all that, then she already knows. Besides, he tells himself bitterly, Altair would have died hundreds of years ago. Nothing she can do will hurt him now. "He wasn't my kid, but…" he leaves the sentence hanging.

"Oh-" Lucy puts a hand over her mouth. "Desmond, I am so sorry."

"It's fine," Desmond says, and he can't help but glance at the animus as he says it. "He's a tough kid. I'm sure he'll survive."

"Still." Lucy shakes her head. "That's not right at all. How old is he?"

About nine hundred years old. "Five," Desmond says. "Just started at Kindergarten last week."

"How long has he been-"

"Look, Lucy," Desmond interrupts. "I really don't want to talk about this right now. Not here, anyway."

"Oh." They both look at the security camera hanging from the ceiling. "Right. Sorry."

Desmond shrugs, and says, "It's not your fault." Lucy told him earlier that she's a captive here, the same as he is. Well- not quite the same. At least she's not being stuffed inside an animus every single day.

"Well, I'm sorry anyway," she says. "And if it helps, I haven't heard anything about a kid being brought in. Or… taken care of."

He already knows this much, but forces a smile. Lucy returns it before following Vidic out of the room. As far as Abstergo employees go, Desmond decides she's not all that bad.


	4. Chapter 4

October 1, 2012

-/-

He makes it through a month of animus fuelled nightmares and sleepless nights before Desmond decides he has a question that really can't wait any longer for an answer. By this time he's squatting in the basement of a ruined Italian villa that used to be the home of another of his ancestors, Ezio Auditore. Desmond likes going through Ezio's memories because they don't mean anything to him. It's a lot less complicated.

But he has questions he really needs the answers to, if only for his own peace of mind. So one night, after hours of tossing and turning on a rough stone floor in what feels like the world's cheapest sleeping bag, he gets up to see who's still asleep. Lucy and Rebecca are his first and second choices. Lucy likes him (maybe even as much as he likes her), and he thinks he could probably convince Rebecca to do him a favor.

So of course Shaun is the only one awake when Desmond gets up. He glances over at Desmond, scowls, and asks "What are you doing up?"

"Can't sleep," Desmond says. He does his best to sound casual, but Shaun clearly isn't buying it. He puts down the document he's been squinting at and turns around in his chair.

"Trust me," he says. "If you're having problems, I'm not the one you want to talk to about it."

This is fine with Desmond, who has no desire to share his feelings with the other man, but it does give him an idea. "You sure?" he asks.

"Very sure."

"Oh," Desmond says, and waits just long enough for Shaun to turn around and get back to work before adding, "Are you sure? Because there's something I saw in the animus a while ago that's really been bothering me, and I thought, you know, maybe if I talk it out with someone it'll make more sense. I mean, don't get me wrong, I'd rather be talking to Lucy, but she's asleep-"

"Fine!" Shaun throws up his hands. "Listen, if this is an animus issue, why don't I just stick you in and you can figure it out yourself? And stop bothering me while I'm trying to work, maybe?"

Desmond just barely manages to hide his grin. Victory.

"So this is an Ezio memory?" Shaun asks, leaning over Rebecca's computer.

"Altair," Desmond corrects. "He would have been four- almost five."

"Huh." Shaun finishes whatever he's doing to set up the memory and steps back. "Well if you want to run around in a toddler's memories instead of getting some real sleep, that's fine by me. Just do it quiet, yea?"

"Yea," Desmond says, and climbs into the animus chair.

"Oh-" Shaun hesitates before starting the last sequence of commands that will get the animus booting up. He actually looks legitimately worried. "And don't tell Rebecca, alright? She gets really upset when anyone else messes with her animus."

"Sure," Desmond says, and Shaun nods. That's the last thing he sees before the familiar boot up screen of the animus.

The memory comes up almost immediately. Altair, looking exactly the same as Desmond remembers him from the day they first met, is alone somewhere in Masyaf. It's dark, but Desmond can feel wind, so he knows it's outside somewhere. And Altair is huddled against the wall, pushing his back against it with a special kind of intensity that tells Desmond he's worried about falling. The older Altair, the one whose memories Desmond went through as Abstergo's prisoner, has no fear of heights. But fearlessness isn't the kind of thing anyone's born with, and Altair hasn't developed it this early.

He's crying. Desmond can feel tears on his cheeks, and a tightness in his chest that means Altair's been crying for a while now. He doesn't know what the tears are for, but one thing he learned over the ten months Altair was with him is that kids cry a lot, even kids being raised as assassins. The only difference is that assassins learn to cry alone, which is probably why Altair's climbed something tall in the middle of the night to do it in private.

Something makes a sound behind him.

The boy makes a noise that can only be described as a squeak and tilts dangerously, almost falling. At the last second, an arm reaches out and grabs hold of the boy. Altair clings to it for several seconds before eventually, slowly, letting go. He scoots backward again until he's wedged into the same corner he started in, and studies his rescuer with wide eyes. It's a woman, but not like any other woman he's ever seen. She's tall, and sort of… glows. Altair stares at her, and Desmond can feel the hesitation and confusion practically radiating off him in waves.

His own feelings are a lot closer to downright shock, because he recognizes the woman. She's the same one he's seen in Ezio's memories, in the hidden room under the Vatican. Minerva, she called herself. But what is she doing here?

She doesn't speak, and after a minute or so Altair manages to stammer out- "Wh- what are you doing here?"

Minerva doesn't answer, doesn't even look at him. Instead, she stares over him, at someone or something he can't see. But he can hear a voice, a man's this time, floating out of the darkness like some kind of spirit. Altair twists around- carefully, so he doesn't fall this time- but doesn't see anything.

"Minerva," the voice says. "Your mission was to observe the timelines. Not to interfere."

"It is one child." Minerva's voice is dismissive. "He would not have fallen if I had not appeared. I merely corrected the mistake."

"Hmm." Altair shivers as the ghostly voice echoes again. "Perhaps you were not ready for this assignment. Return home and we will reevaluate your position."

"But, Tinia-" Minerva scowls, and it strikes Desmond that she looks much younger than when Ezio saw her.

"No," says the voice. "Mapping the timelines is a job that takes the utmost self-control, and I don't think you're up to the task. Now come back."

Minerva sighs, but a moment later her image starts to flicker out. "No!" Altair yells, and jumps to his feet. "Wait!" He stumbles, starts to fall again, and reaches out. At the last possible second, just before she vanishes, Altair's reaching fingers close around Minerva's arm.

For a second, all of time and space flashes in front of them, and then Altair gets a glimpse of a room filled with cold metal and strange glowing lights. A large man (maybe the man with the angry voice?) stands at the front of the room, glaring at Minerva as she steps out of a strange machine. Desmond wonders if it might be sort of like an animus, but made for seeing the future instead of the past.

But this scene lasts for only a second. Then Altair, terrified by everything he's seeing, lets go of Minerva's arm. As soon as he does, he goes spinning off through time again. Desmond recognizes a lot more of what he sees than Altair- men with guns lying in trenches, an astronaut taking his first steps on the moon, a group of samurai fighting with swords- but not all of it is familiar to him.

Then, abruptly, it all stops, and Altair lands on something soft. Well- relatively soft. Desmond never could afford a decent mattress, and there's no doubt that Altair has somehow, through some miracle of time and space, found himself in the apartment. Back in the world outside the animus, Desmond can hear Shaun swear and run off to wake Lucy and Rebecca. He doesn't pay any attention; he finds himself fixated on the memory instead. He's seen it from one point of view already, but it looks like now he'll get to see it from Altair's as well. It's definitely the weirdest thing he's ever been through in the animus.

Altair shivers, and curls himself into a ball in the corner where the bed meets the wall. He buries his head in his arms and spends a long time trying not to cry. After a while, he pulls a blanket off the end of the bed and wraps it around himself, hiding as best he can.

Desmond can hear voices outside the animus by this time- not just Shaun's, but Lucy's and Rebecca's as well. Rebecca still sounds half asleep- even something like this isn't enough to wake her up. Then again, from what Desmond's seen of her so far, only coffee is really capable of doing that.

_"What's going on?" _That's Lucy's voice- anxious, concerned that something's gone wrong. _"Is Desmond okay?"_

_"What?" _And that's Shaun. _"Yea, I guess he's fine."_

_"Why are we all awake, then?" _Rebecca grumbles. It's really more of a mumble, to be honest. Desmond can barely make the words out over the sound of a huge yawn.

_"Listen," _Shaun says. _"It's not Desmond. It's this memory-"_

_"Why is he in the animus at all?" _Lucy asks. _"He's in it enough during the day- the last thing we need is an extra session in the middle of the night! What were you thinking?"_

_"He came to me and asked for it," _Shaun says. It's the first time Desmond's ever heard him raise his voice, and Lucy falls silent. _"But look- it's one of Altair's memories. It's from when he was really young, like four or five or something. And-"_

_"Hang on." _This time it's Rebecca that interrupts, and she sounds a lot more awake. Desmond can tell by the direction her voice is coming from that she's stepped over to her computer. _"Shaun, what am I looking at here? You said it's an Altair memory, but-"_

_"But this is modern," _Shaun finishes. _"Yea, I know."_

_"Where is this?" _Lucy asks. _"An apartment somewhere?"_

_"Look," _Shaun says. _"Someone's coming in."_

By this time, Altair has managed to almost cry himself to sleep, but his eyes shoot open when a stranger comes through the door. Altair watches as he strips out of his clothes and pulls on fresh pants. He's about to put on a shirt as well when Altair shifts on the bed and the man freezes. Altair tenses, readying himself to jump off the bed and run at the first sign of danger. But when the man finally turns around, Altair finds himself too frozen to move. Even when he curses (Altair doesn't know the word, but the tone of voice is impossible to mistake).

_"No way," _Shaun says, but he's the only one that speaks. Other than his voice, the room is dead silent. It's not just the silence of people that don't happen to be talking- it's the absolute stillness of people too shocked to move, much less speak.

Altair is staring, eyes wide as saucers, at the Desmond in the memory, leaving the present day Desmond with the uncomfortable feeling of looking himself in the eye. He can feel Altair trembling, completely uncertain what to do. It's not until past Desmond sighs and lets his angry expression soften a little that Altair acts. By this point, he's desperate. He's seen too much already tonight, he has no idea where he is, and he badly needs a friendly face. At this point, he'll take a face that isn't angry.

Altair lets out a strangled sounding sob and leaps at past Desmond, who manages to catch him just before Altair dissolves into a huge mess of tears. Somehow, in the time it takes him to run out of tears, he ends up curled against the man in bed, still lonely and homesick and upset, but feeling a little safer than when he was alone.

Past Desmond says something to him. Altair doesn't know the language, but he takes the opportunity to ask all the questions that have been boiling just under the panic in his head since he got here. "Where am I?" he asks. "Who are you? How did I get here? Can-" he swallows down new tears. "Can I go home?"

Altair doesn't understand any of the answer, but he hears 'Desmond' twice, and guesses that maybe it's his name. "My name's Altair," he says.

"Altair," past Desmond repeats, and Altair nods. That's about the time when the two of them start to nod off, and the memory ends.

-/-

October 1, 2012 (Later)

-/-

They're all staring at him when he comes out of the animus, but Shaun's the first one to speak. Desmond's not surprised- he's known the man less than a month, but it's not hard to figure out that the man talks when he's nervous.

"Were you going to mention this?" he demands. "Ever?"

"No," Desmond says. "But…" But he needed to know more than he needed to keep Altair a secret.

"Desmond…" Lucy's voice is barely audible. "I am so sorry."

"Yea." He shrugs. "Me too."

"Did you know?" Shaun asks. "Who he was? Where he was from?"

"Not until Abstergo snatched me," Desmond says. "I knew there was something different about him, and I knew he was being raised as an assassin. But the rest of it was a surprise."

"How long was he with you?" Rebecca asks- her first words since Desmond came out of the animus.

"Ten months, more or less," Desmond says. "The last time I saw him was the same day Abstergo came for me. They were…" he hesitates, then realizes there's no way to say this that won't sound stupid, and goes on. "They were the best ten months of my life."

Lucy shoots the other two a significant look, and they back off, leaving her and Desmond alone. They don't look happy about it, but they go. When it's just the two of them, Lucy asks, "Do you want to talk about it?"

Desmond doesn't answer right away. He's never talked about any of this before. Sure, there were people in his life that knew about Altair when he lived in New York. His boss. A couple of neighbors. But Desmond never told any of them more than the barest details, because he knows how insane most of it would sound. Then again- this seems like a good time for crazy.

"When I was on my own, my life was a complete mess," Desmond says. "I didn't have anything to live for, so I didn't care what I did with my life. You told me you looked at my file- I'm sure whoever put it together mentioned that."

But Lucy shakes her head. "They didn't even know about you until about a week before they sent in a team to get you. Your information got into some database, and after that, they didn't waste any time."

"I was wondering about that," Desmond says. "How they found me. I mean, I was careful. Nine years of fake names and getting paid under the table, and then-" he stops abruptly, because he's just figured it out. "Oh," he says. "I am an idiot."

"You're not-"

"I got too comfortable. With Altair, I thought…" he can't quite meet Lucy's eyes. "I thought maybe I could have a normal life. I got my act together. I'd just been hired in a new job. And I put Altair into Kindergarten."

He glances at Lucy just in time to see her smile. "You signed the most infamous assassin of the last millennium up for Kindergarten?"

Desmond tries to scowl, but she's right. It is a little unexpected, and he finds himself smiling himself. Just a little. "Yea," he admits. "He was pretty against it at first, but I mean, you should have seen him after his first day."

"I wish I could have," Lucy says, and sighs. "Trust me, you're not the only one that wants a normal life." By this point, they're sitting side by side on two of the folding chairs they brought down to the basement. Desmond reaches out and takes her hand. They sit like this for several minutes before Lucy manages another question. "What was he like?"

"Weirdest kid I ever met," Desmond says. "I mean- I guess I know why now. It can't be easy to just skip nine centuries in about half an hour."

"Probably not," Lucy agrees.

"But he was happy," Desmond says. "Most of the time. And he definitely knew what he wanted out of life. He told me once that he wanted to become the best assassin ever."

"Looks like he got what he wanted," Lucy says.

"Yea…" Desmond frowns. "Is it horrible to say that I wish he hadn't?"

-/-

October- Date Unknown

-/-

It's easy for Desmond to lose track of time when he can't leave the animus, and he's been trapped in the machine for a while- ever since he found the apple in Rome, and it used him to kill Lucy. Or he killed Lucy. He's still not sure what the difference is, or if it even matters.

But finally- _finally_- it looks like he'll be getting out soon. He's been following Ezio as his ancestor hunts down the keys he needs to unlock Altair's library under Masyaf, and they've finally reached that point. Ezio has said his final goodbyes to the order that's shaped most of his life. This is it- Desmond _knows_ this is it.

But then Ezio turns to leave the library, and Desmond… doesn't. He looks around warily, but after Ezio leaves the room, he's completely alone. It's weird, but then- what isn't these days. At least he's in his own body now, instead of one of his ancestors'. It makes for a nice change, Desmond reflects as he wanders the ruins of Masyaf. There has to be a reason for this to suddenly happen, and it doesn't take him long to find that reason.

Altair's standing on the second floor landing of the keep when Desmond makes it to the front door. He looks only half solid, like the ghosts Desmond's gotten used to seeing from the Bleeding Effect, but the Bleeding Effect doesn't usually trouble him while he's still in the animus.

Altair has his eyes closed, and an apple cupped between his hands. Desmond hesitates, then takes the stairs up. He makes it to within a yard of Altair before he suddenly stops. The scenery around him shifts, from ruined Masyaf to the whole version from Altair's memories, and finally to the bare island of the animus's core programming. Out of habit, Desmond looks around for Clay, and is more than a little relieved to not see him there.

Altair opens his eyes and takes in their surroundings without letting his expression change at all. Desmond waits in silence. He's not sure what's going on here, and he's more than happy to let Altair take the lead here.

Altair looks tired and sad and a lot less confident than Desmond is used to seeing him as he says, "I wasn't sure I'd be able to do this." He's looking at the apple instead of at Desmond. Desmond looks straight at him- this version of Altair is about the same age as the one from the memories Desmond went through back at Abstergo. And actually- he looks at the dirt and bloodstains on Altair's robes, glances at his injuries, and decides that it might have been only hours for Altair since he killed Al Mualim.

Time travel- he is so, _so_ done with time travel.

"Yea?" Desmond asks. He hesitates, because he's not quite sure which question to ask first. He settles on "What exactly _did _you do?"

"Ah…" Altair studies the island. "I have no idea. But-" he takes a deep breath and gestures to the apple. "I was looking at this and I thought, well, it can do a lot of impossible things, right? And I wanted to know if you were real."

"If I- what?" Somehow, this isn't at all what he was expecting.

"It was one year a long time ago," Altair says. "I was young, and when I went home…" he shrugs. "There were other things to worry about, and after a while, the whole thing seemed like a dream."

"Oh," Desmond says. "It's only been a couple months for me. I mean- a long couple months, but still…" And somehow, he ends up telling Altair everything that's happened. At the end of it, they stand in silence for a long time. It's been months since Desmond's seen Altair, and years since he's seen Desmond. They're both different people than they were when they shared a tiny apartment in New York, and if Desmond had to guess, he would have expected this to be incredibly awkward. It's not.

"That's a very strange story," Altair says at last.

"Yea," Desmond agrees. "I know, I lived it." He doesn't want to talk about it anymore, so he changes the subject. "How did you get back?" he asked. "When they came after me, you were already gone."

"The same way I got there in the first place," Altair says. "A woman that looked like she was made of light came after me. I got the impression they hadn't planned on me ending up in 2011. So she took me home and that was the end of it, until now."

"First civilization," Desmond sighs. "I'm starting to think they were all insane."

The light around them is getting thinner. Either the apple's running out of juice, or Desmond's about to be pulled out of the animus. Whichever it is, it's obvious they're almost out of time.

"So I guess this is goodbye," Desmond says. Altair nods, just once. "Thanks."

"For what?"

"For…" for (almost literally) falling into his life last November. For giving him a reason not to kill himself with alcohol poisoning. For coming back to say goodbye. "You know. Stuff."

"Yea," Altair says. "You too. Thanks for…"

"Stuff?" Desmond supplies.

Altair smiles, and for a second his face looks more like the four year old's than the master assassin's.

Then Desmond wakes up, all the way up, out of the animus and back into the real world. He feels a lot better than he has since before Abstergo took him. It might have been easy to explain that last scene as a creation of the animus, but Desmond doesn't believe it. Earlier, he'd told Lucy he wished Altair hadn't gotten his wish, hadn't grown up to become a master assassin.

He realizes he's okay with it now, realizes that he wasn't so much upset to see Altair all grown up and become an assassin. He just doesn't know how to cope with seeing a kid that used to rely on him suddenly so… different.

Only, maybe he's not as different after all. It hasn't escaped Desmond's notice that less than a day after Altair kills his mentor and father figure, the man's going out of his way to talk to him. And so they've said goodbye- with all the other insanities in his life right now, he has no problem believing they'll see each other again.


End file.
